My name is Baal; I walked the world of yore
And men and women gave me worship then.
My imaged fanes rose high on many a shore—
My priests were wise with all the ages’ lore;
Before me bowed all ranks and tribes of men.
My silver image sat with jeweled eyes
Above the lesser gods that thronged about
The mighty hall. There kings would often come
And then the trumpets clamored to the skies,
The halls re-echoed to the clanging drum
And to the shouts of the adoring rout.

[from “Baal”; to read the complete poem see The Collected Poetry of Robert E. Howard, p. 153 and A Rhyme of Salem Town, p. 53]